Fortune Cookie
by Mindy35
Summary: KIBBS. Post-'Heartbreak'. Gibbs helps Kate deal with her grief but exposes himself in the process.


Title: Fortune Cookie

Author: MindyHarmon

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.

Summary: Follows 'Heartbreak'. Gibbs helps Kate deal with her grief but exposes himself in the process. Kibbs, of course.

Spoilers: 'Heartbreak' obviously.

A/N: This started out as a simple post-ep and extended into something else entirely. I wrote it as much to relieve Kate's grief as to relieve my jealousy at seeing The Redhead in the basement with Gibbs. Grr.

* * *

Gibbs knew exactly where she was. He tried to resist the urge to follow her into the bowels of the NCIS building but found himself anyway, riding the elevator and stepping through the doors of Ducky's deserted lab.

Deserted except for Kate, her arms wrapped around her frame, bent in sorrow, and standing fixedly next to the cold body she'd shot the previous night.

The doors swished shut behind him, disrupting the silence, but Kate didn't budge. She was aware of his presence but, maybe like a wild animal hoped that if she remained still that he would not see her and move on. If there was one person she didn't want to deal with right now it was him. His particular brand of suck-it-up macho-ness, not only escaped but wounded her. She couldn't just 'get over it' and she'd felt her insides collapse a little when he'd told her to.

"Leave me alone, Gibbs," she said, loud and clear, with all the strength she could muster.

"Kate," he said, and stepped towards her. Kate immediately turned her back on him, putting a hand up against the cool steel and pressing her forehead to it, hiding her face from his view. Gibbs stopped still, studying her body language and assessing how to best approach her.

"Kate," he said again, and even to his own ears he could hear the condemnation, the judgment. Why did she have to do this? Why did he have to care? Why couldn't he just walk away?

"I don't want to hear it," she muttered, her voice muffled and loosing all strength. She was so sick to death of trying and failing to live up to the expectations of this unrelenting man. She could feel his disapproval a mile off, and hated how it affected her. Why wouldn't he just walk away? She knew he didn't want to deal with her like this anymore than she wanted him to see her like this.

"I don't want to see you right now," she tossed over her shoulder at him. She begged him silently to go, but was somehow relieved when he appeared at her side. He pushed the body of Evan Hayes back into the freezer, slowly but surely, then softly closed the door on him and turned to her.

'Go away, go away, go away,' her body screamed as she felt him encroaching on her space, pressing buttons that were too vulnerable to withstand the pressure. She could feel his eyes watching her and waited to see what he would say.

"Don't do this, Kate."

Another order, she thought, resentfully.

"I _killed_ a man, Gibbs." She turned and looked at him abruptly, her voice indignant: "Whether he was guilty or innocent, I shot him, and he's dead. I'm entitled to feel_ something_."

Gibbs remained unaffected: "Goes with the territory," he stated, stiffly.

A gasp escaped her throat: "Wow. That's cold." She narrowed her eyes at him, shaking her head slightly: "How do you sleep nights?"

Gibbs straightened slightly: "By reminding myself that I did my job and served my country."

"Keeps you warm at night does it?" she purred, scornfully.

"Keeps me sane," he countered, his jaw clenching dangerously: "Keeps me going."

She faced him fully, her emotions reaching boiling point: "Well, I don't _want _to keep going that way. I _want _to be able to feel remorse, feel anger and loss and sorrow and regret, because it means I_ have_ a conscience. It's proof I _have_ a heart."

Gibbs leaned down, his face coming close to hers, his voice rising in volume and urgency: "You think I don't care about this kid, his family?" he pointed to the freezer they stood in front of. "You think I don't care about you?"

"No, I don't think you do," she answered swiftly: "I think you've trained yourself to avoid it at all costs. But I don't think it makes you braver or stronger. If anything, I think it just makes you sadder."

Having said her bit, she stalked past him, only to be stopped by his hand, gentle but insistent, on her upper arm. He held her there, not moving, not speaking, his eyes tracing her flushed profile, as her breathing slowed incrementally. She gulped, attempting to control her voice:

"Let go," she grit.

Gibbs didn't move for a second, then his grip loosened and he stepped around, his shirt appearing in front of her face, his head bowed over hers.

"Let go," she repeated weakly, her throat clogged.

His hand dropped to his side, releasing her, but he remained where he was, silent and strong. Her head fell gradually to his chest, all anger, all resistance, all fight leaving her body. Her arms hung loosely at her sides and her head rolled back and forth on his chest confusedly.

Gibbs looked down at her; he didn't think she was crying, but her shoulders were shaking and her breath was coming harsh and fast against his shirt. He could feel her hot breath penetrate to his skin. Uncertain as to what to do with his hands, he sighed and carefully put one arm around her heaving shoulders, whispering words of comfort and waiting patiently for her to come around.

She pulled back finally and he took her elbow and guided her to Ducky's desk, offering her his chair and tissue box. Kate took the seat and wiped her face, unable the make sense of her feelings and unable to meet the gaze of her boss. Gibbs hitched one leg up on the desk and clasped his hands together, looking down at her. He took a breath and let it out through his nose.

"Kate," he started gently: "I know everything you're feeling believe me."

Kate looked up at him with red, earnest eyes.

"I also know…" he continued: "that you only fired that weapon to protect me."

She nodded slowly and glanced towards the freezer: how much worse would she feel if it were _him_ in there?

He leaned into her: "I know it goes against everything good in you, Katie, but it was the right choice."

She looked at her lap, knitting her fingers together.

"I'd trust you to make it again in a heartbeat," he said, softly: "You've got to trust _yourself_."

She looked up at him again, her face more composed but her eyes still reflecting an unresolved sadness. He held her eyes with his and offered her a little smile.

"Now what are you doing tonight?" he asked, in a lighter tone: "Ducky wants to take you to the Opera."

She shook her head: "No, I can't tonight."

"Big date?" he teased, remembering Tony needling her about 'Harrison' earlier.

"No," she sniffed: "Just not in the mood, I mean. Not tonight."

"Okay, then you're with me," he said, rising and gesturing for her to follow.

"Where are we going?" she asked, brightening a little as they headed to the elevator.

"Tell you on the way," he tossed over his shoulder.

When they arrived back in the bullpen, The Redhead stood by the elevator.

"Boss--" Tony pointed to her.

Gibbs nodded. "Grab your things," he said to Kate: "I won't be a minute."

Kate obeyed, going to her desk, shutting off her computer, slipping on her coat and grabbing her bag. She watched from the corner of her eye as Gibbs approached the woman and spoke to her for a few moments, then waited as she boarded the elevator and waved to him. Returning to his desk, he put on his own coat and switched off his lamp.

Tony watched curiously as Kate and Gibbs left together silently and made a grab for his phone as Paula's number showed up on the screen.

* * *

Kate had only heard about the mythical boat in the basement. It was like being let into a fairytale. Gibbs had opened the door and switched on the light.

"Take a look," he'd said: "I'll be right down."

The room glowed with yellow light, and the smell of sawdust she recognized from her boss' clothes was magnified, overtaking her lungs. It was silent, dank, still and shadowy. She descended the stairs slowly and reached out to taste the smooth wood with one hand. Her shoes sifted through sawdust and shavings, and her eyes roamed over walls hung with papers, not staying long enough to identify anything in particular. She admired the sleek skeleton of the boat, passing around it slowly, and soon she heard the steps creak with Gibbs' descent. He found her at the stern, one hand laid on the under curve, her eyes unfocused, her face relaxed, pensive:

"It's beautiful…amazing."

He handed her a beer bottle and she took it, her gaze still directed at the boat. He grabbed a sweater from the chair and laid it around her shoulders:

"It gets cold down here."

Her hand reached around absently to pull it closer around herself and she took a sip of beer.

"My grandfather taught me," said Gibbs, eyeing his creation and slipping on a pair of thick gloves. He took a couple of gulps of his beer and turned his gaze on her: "We all find ways to cope."

He picked up a second pair of gloves and offered them to her, with a raised brow. Her mouth turned up at the edges as she put aside her beer and took the gloves, slipping them over her hands.

They worked for nearly two hours, the only words they exchanged were his occasional instructions or her requests for guidance. When her strength wasn't enough, he stood behind her, placing his arms either side of her, his front against her back, as he lent his strength to hers. She looked across at him now and then, in a t-shirt that matched the sweater he'd leant her, both stamped with 'NIS', and she realized the magnitude of his support for her. He was on her side and she was grateful.

At around nine, she ran upstairs, desperate for food and ordered them Chinese delivery. She made sure to get his favorite and asked them to be quick. They ate, tired and a little tipsy, but ravenous from a long day and a few hours of physical labor. Gibbs sat in the only chair, by the work bench, and Kate scooted back on the bench, crossing her legs underneath her, and spreading out their dinner between them.

When he stood to fish out his soup from the bag, he smiled and picked a few shavings from her hair and shoulders.

"Thanks," she said, running a hand over her head to check for more.

He took out his soup and handed her a fortune cookie. She rolled her eyes, took it and turned it over a few times before cracking it open. She could've used some wisdom actually, an assuring line or word of comfort, but Kate didn't believe in easy answers.

"'People may not always believe what you will say'," she read: "'but they will believe what you do.'"

Gibbs scoffed into his soup – obviously not a believer either.

Kate shrugged: "Whatever that's supposed to mean." She dug into the bag and threw one to him. He caught it deftly, dunked it in his soup then snapped one end off with his teeth and offered her the other. She pulled out the little slip of paper and paused:

"Ready?" she teased.

Gibbs shot her an unimpressed look and popped the other half in his mouth.

"'People may not always believe what you say'…it's exactly the same," she said turning it over as if trying to find another fortune. "How weird is that?"

"What are the odds?" Gibbs peered at the bag: "I bet they're all the same."

Kate pulled out another and bit it open: "Nope, this one's different."

"Any better?" he asked over the rim of his cup.

She paused for a millisecond: "'Love is just around the corner'," she read tritely.

Gibbs slurped loudly: "Then what are you doing here?"

She snorted, scrunched the fortune and threw it at him. He chuckled and picked it off from where it landed on his shirt, flicking it onto the bench.

In the short silence, Gibbs cocked his head upwards.

"Is that your cell phone?" he asked, picking up on the sound coming from upstairs that Kate had been trying to ignore.

"Yeah, it's probably Harrison," she nodded, digging back into her chow mien: "He's been calling all night."

"Popular are we?" he mumbled, and peered at her over the rim of his styrofoam cup: "Why don't you pick it up?"

"Because…because he'll ask me how my day was," she sighed: "And how do I answer that?"

"Well…I've found honesty is always the best policy," he rubbed his jaw and added: "Believe me – I learnt that one the hard way."

Kate looked at him with this admission and wondered which wife had encouraged Gibbs to open up. All of them probably, she guessed.

"So, who's this Harrison?" he asked, deflecting the attention to her, and finishing off his soup.

She shrugged and ummed for a moment: "Just a guy. We've been out a few times."

Gibbs smirked and shook his head: "Poor Harrison."

She looked at him sharply: "What do you mean?"

"'Just a guy', Kate?" he tutted.

"I dunno, Gibbs," she looked at her lap and started peeling at the bottle she held between her legs: "I've been so muddled lately….like I don't know who I am….don't know what I want." She paused then said quietly, with a self-deprecating smile: "And I've always known what I wanted."

Gibbs mused: "Mmm, and got it too."

"Well…" Kate tilted her head to one side and smiled a smile that admitted that was probably true. But then she blinked a few times and the smile disappeared: "….not always."

"Well, Kate," he stood with a grunt and started packing away their picnic: "at the risk of sounding like an old man, I'd say you've got everything going for you." He looked at her very briefly; he had no intention of listing her most compelling qualities, they were pretty obvious, he thought. "-- and could have anything you put you mind to."

She watched him silently, closely. 'Even You?' she wondered, secretly.

As if he'd heard her unbidden thought, Gibbs stopped and looked at her. He was in the process of leaning around her to grab the discarded chow mien and the action brought his face close to hers, their eyes locked and the air thickened dramatically. Her eyes grew wide and dropped as she feared he'd guessed where her thoughts had taken his compliment. Gibbs pulled away very slowly and continued shoving rubbish into the bag.

"I think what I want right now is to go to bed," she said, hoping to lighten the air but failing miserably. She cursed inwardly: "To sleep, I mean," and rolled her eyes at herself.

"Good idea," he nodded, ceasing punching the bag of rubbish.

She unfolded her legs and hopped down to the floor: "I really should go now."

"Want me to see you out?" he offered.

"No, that's okay," she gestured to the boat: "You keep on…" She turned slowly and headed for the stairs: "But…thanks, Gibbs." She turned with one hand on the banister to look at him.

He put his hands out to the side and nodded. She gave him a smile, ducked her head and headed up the stairs.

Gibbs stood at his work bench listening to her progress out of the house and soon, the place was completely silent. He gathered up some stray napkins, his hand stopping to pick up the crumpled fortune she'd thrown at him. If he were a different man, he would iron out the little slip and pin it up on his notice board. But he couldn't allow such a sentimental gesture, particularly regarding a woman he wasn't involved with, and had no intention of becoming involved with. Instead he simply 'forgot' to put it in with the other trash, letting it lie, amongst shavings and tools, like an unfinished thought.

He trudged up the stairs, the basement too lonely for him now, and deposited the bag of trash in the bin. On his kitchen table, neatly folded was the sweater he'd lent her. He picked it up on his way to the bedroom and lifted it to his nose, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair, her perfume, her Kate-ness. He rebuked himself silently for the indulgence and wondered what on earth he was doing. There in his bed was still the dip left from Adrian, his redheaded long-term fling, while in his hand, he cradled the essence of his young protégé. He was sleeping with a woman he didn't love and he was falling in love with a woman he shouldn't even touch.

He ran a hand over his face. When it came to women, he had a particular genius for disaster. Not to mention self-torture. Which was why things were going to stay exactly the way they were.

He took a last whiff of the sweater before throwing it ruthlessly towards his washing pile. And while he was at it he set about ripping the sheets off his bed. Adrian's heady scent wafted up towards him. Different to Kate's more natural smell, Adrian's perfume was potent, sophisticated, sharp. He dumped the sheets into the washing pile and grabbed the pillows, undressing them too.

Things just had to remain the way they were. He and Kate were a bad idea for each other – that was blatantly obvious, despite any irrational attraction that existed.

Adrian, he could handle -- and she could handle him. She didn't care if they met once, twice, ten times a month or not at all. She didn't care if he never talked about his work, his feelings, his life. In fact, she seemed entirely ambivalent to anything he did outside the bedroom. There was a serenity to that that both pleased and bothered him.

That sort of detachment would be entirely foreign to a woman like Kate. There was too much good in her — she was too moral, too faithful, too earnest. She wore her heart on her sleeve and like everything else she wore, it looked spectacular on her. All he needed to do was look at her – her face, her body, her eyes -- to know what she was thinking, feeling. The honesty of it nearly undid him at times. The openness of it beguiled him. She did not hide; and she did not do anything half-heartedly. He just knew if she was in his private life, she would take it over, top to bottom and beginning to end. And he'd let her-- he'd resist it, but he wouldn't win. Gibbs wasn't ready for that to happen.

What was more, he thought, pulling hisshirt and undershirt off and adding them to the growing pile; he'd already witnessed too many changes in Kate over the two years she'd worked with him. She'd acquired a toughness around the edges, a learnt mistrust. As her boss, he admired it, thought it necessary. As a man who cared for her, he mourned the loss -- and refused to be responsible for further changes in her that they both might regret.

Kate was so little acquainted with heartbreak. It was one of the things that drew him so powerfully to her. She was still whole and complete, she was joyous and brave in her heart -- he could see it in her eyes. Unlike the set of eyes that he saw reflected in the mirror. Unlike the eyes of three women that he'd loved, honored and cherished. Unlike the eyes of redheaded Adrian, while he was at it.

Someday, someone would probably put that look in little Katie Todd's eyes – they would break her heart. He just didn't want to be that person. Paradoxically, it was because he cared that he insisted on keeping her at arms-length.

He went to the hall cabinet and pulled out some fresh linen, hearing his third wife cackling in his head: 'You've made your bed, Jethro, now you sleep in it'.

Another voice entered in behind the one he dreaded most as he remembered Kate's words to him earlier that night. Her face when she'd said he wasn't braver or stronger for denying his own heart, only sadder, was stuck in his mind….

So was the look she gave him downstairs when he'd told her she could have anything she put her mind to. He knew exactly what she'd thought at that moment as though she'd spoken it aloud. His heart had stopped fleetingly, paralyzed by equal measures of hope and panic. She was so much braver and stronger than him, when it came to matters of the heart. And if she did set her mind to _him_ -- would he ever be able to resist?

He sat down on the unmade bed with his head in his hands. Falling for Kate could either be the best or the worst thing that ever happened to him. The question was, after vowing the last time would be the last time, would he -- could he -- chance one more heartbreak?

* * *


End file.
